Why Stiles?
by teenwolfaddict1000
Summary: Scott did everything he could, he gave it his all, he tried his hardest but, ultimately, it wasn't enough because his best friend still died, torn apart from the inside out by that damned nogitsune, and all Scott feels is grief and guilt because he had failed his friend; he had failed his brother. Sad fic. Please R&R :)


**Disclaimer: Teen wolf is nay mine! Considering all the Stiles feels in the past few episodes though I would write something sad! ha! enjoy! **

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Scott's eyes must be betraying him because that person laying there, laying there lifeless and limp on the floor, could not be his best friend. It just couldn't. Stiles was always there, always being the voice of reason, always there with his witty and sarcastic remarks, always there to pull Scott back from the edge, always there with his quick thinking to save the day. So, it just couldn't be Stiles there, dead and unmoving, it just couldn't.

But, at the same time, it was.

The person laying there looked like Stiles so, effectively, he must be Stiles right?

His floppy hair was sticking up in every which way, his normal pale skin looking translucent and eerily unhealthily, those limbs that never stopped moving, were still. The whole image just looked... unnatural. Scott's feet moved forward on their own accord, his breathing beginning to hitch. Stiles could not be gone, he just couldn't, it was an unspoken rule between the two of them.

This whole time, through out the whole werewolf transition, he thought Allison was his anchor. And she was but Stiles... Stiles was the one that kept him grounded, Stiles was his ground layer - you take away that and what? The whole thing collapses and Scott felt himself slowly breaking apart.

Why Stiles?

Stiles was the innocent one. The carefree one. The one that didn't deserve any of this. He was the goofy one. The fun one. The strong one. He was Scott's brother in everything but blood, in everything that was important, and Scott knew, when he looked down onto his best friend's body, he was gone. Stiles may be a prankster, a very good one at that, but he wouldn't put people through this pain. He wouldn't.

Scott fell to his knees, hands shaking as he tried to get some much needed air into his lungs. Was that blood? The thick congealment of red pooled around Stiles' torso, slowly inching its way forward towards Scott, as if it was mocking him. He let out a choked sob, feeling the familiar burning behind his eyes as the tears threatened to burst through.

Why Stiles?

His best friend, his brother, his mentor, was... gone? He had taken Stiles for granted. He had always just assumed he would be there, through thick and thin, forgetting that Stiles was human - so fragile, so easily breakable. As proven right now. Scott felt his heart rate increase as hot tears spilt down his cheeks like torrents, the salty liquid making his eyesight go blurry.

Stiles' limbs were splayed around him like a rag doll, his lanky figure bent at awkward angles that even a sleeping and unconscious Stiles could definitely not pull off. The famous plaid shirt was ripped and ragged, torn in places and burnt in others, showing the pale and bruised skin underneath. No, this couldn't be real. This couldn't be Stiles. He was unrecognisable.

Why Stiles?

Scott's back hunched over as he reached forward, grasping his best friend's cold, frail and unusually bony hand. He needed Stiles back, he needed Stiles back right now, no more games. Peter came back from the dead, why couldn't Stiles? He deserves it more that Peter. Stiles deserves to have a life. He definitely did not deserve to fall by the hands of a nogitsune.

Scott let out an anguished howl of pain and grief, of loss and sadness, of suffering and distress, because Stiles... Stiles was gone. Forever. His eyes faded from red to brown again as he collapsed forward, one hand shaking Stiles' shoulder desperately, pleading for him to wake up, to stop with the games and be 'Stiles' again. It didn't work. His best friend's head lolled back and forth, caramel brown eyes once so full of life and happiness now... dull and wide with pain and terror.

And that was what hit Scott the most. The eyes. The eyes were the window to the soul. They gave away everything, the eyes. And Scott could see, not relief or peace in his best friend's eyes. No. He saw fear so raw it made Scott's heart lurch, he saw pain so real it made Scott cry harder, he saw guilt so clearly it made his chest ache.

Why Stiles?

His mouth was slack and Scott would've laughed if he could. Stiles mouth was always slack - his best friend could never keep it shut from talking so damn much, half the time wanting to hit him over the head and tell him to remember to breathe, only now, Scott would give anything to hear that voice again. His best friend's voice that always brought him back.

"W-Why?" Scott choked out, not knowing where to put his hands. Stiles body was broken beyond repair, blood oozing out from multiple sword slashes, bones bent at wrong angles, black and blue bruises littering his skin. Stiles had literally torn the nogitsune from his body with every last effort he had, mustering up all his strength and stubbornness for one last time.

"Don't be dead Stiles" Scott cried out, "Please, please, don't be dead" He added, voice cracking in anguish, "Y-You promised, you promised it would be you and me against the world"

Scott had never felt this type of pain before. Not when his dad left. Not when Allison broke up with him. Not when he was shot. Not when he got stabbed. This pain was fresh and raw and it felt like his chest was being torn open and his heart was being clawed from his chest. He should've done more. He should've been there for his best friend like Stiles was always there for them. He should've traded places.

Scott's head snapped up when he heard a grief-stricken scream and saw Sheriff Stilinski race forward, his usual caring and kind eyes, now wide open, disbelief written all over his face. His face, which had seen too much sadness, was now fallen and shock-ridden.

"No, no, no, no, no, no - Stiles, Stiles, c'mon bud wake up" The sheriff pleaded, pulling Stiles' lifeless body into his arms, "You're gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine, I've got you, everything's gonna be okay" He murmured against Stiles' hair, caressing his neck, "Dad's here"

Scott's heart broke all over again. No parent should outlive their child - it was unnatural and wrong, something that should never happen.

"Stiles" The sheriff demanded, "Game is over, wake up" He stated, a single tear sliding down his weathered face, "Please... please don't leave me"

Scott leaned back, his crossed legs giving way underneath him as he crashed to the ground, staring down at the blood on his hands. Was that Stiles' blood? It covered every inch of his palms, like a reminder that it was Scott's fault for not helping Stiles sooner, resembling a brand that he would forever have Stiles' blood on his hands. That it was all his fault.

Stiles was gone, and in his place was just a lifeless corpse, an empty shell, a something that was so far away from being hyper-active and ADHD Stiles, it made Scott's head fall because, no matter what, his best friend was never coming back, because, he, Scott, had let him down.

**A.N) AHAHAHA NOT! omg I just, all these Stiles feels are killing me! anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this, or not, depending, and would really appreciate any feedback on this - I'm trying out writing angst! ahhh, thanks for reading and please review x :)**


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